


The Meagre Might of Man

by finaljoy, red_b_rackham



Category: Supernatural
Genre: -Ish, Action, Canon Typical Monster, Canon Typical Violence, Fic Swap Challenge, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Humor, Snark & Sass, Some Whump, gen - Freeform, super strength
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finaljoy/pseuds/finaljoy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/pseuds/red_b_rackham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How shredded corpses, Dean's sudden super strength, and Meg's love life are connected, and what the boys have to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fic Swap challenge on The Beta Branch, we were tasked to write a scene of 500 words or less, and then it was assigned to another author to be turned into a complete fic. I received a scene from the wonderful [finaljoy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/finaljoy/pseuds/finaljoy) (who gave me a pile of glorious threads to work with), and this is the resulting fic. It got huge, so I'm posting it in three appropriately bite-sized chunks. XD
> 
> Many thanks to the gorgeous Beta Branch ladies for their edits, comments, and feedback!

_Wood River, Nebraska_

“And the weird death of the day award goes to…” Dean tapped his fingers back and forth on the table surface in a mock-drumroll.

“Casper, Wyoming,” answered Sam.

“Don’t tell me it’s ghosts,” Dean warned. “That would be way too ironic.” He sipped his coffee and glanced out of the diner window to the sunny street beyond. Although, truth be told, he wouldn’t mind a simple haunting after the week they’d had.

Sam gave his head an amused shake. “It’s not ghosts. At least, I don’t think so.” He scrolled through a number of online newspaper articles open on his laptop. “Five people have recently died in Casper, all in the same week. Mysterious, violent animal attacks, _inside_ their homes.”

“Sounds like our wheelhouse.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam. He grimaced. “It says the victims had a variety of injuries from the ‘currently unidentified mammal’ – wow, _nice_ – including missing limbs, organs and…”

“What?” Dean questioned, a forkful of breakfast omelette halfway to his mouth.

“One guy was even missing his entire head.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “Holy hell.”

“Yeah. Authorities are saying it’s a bear or cougar and people are supposed to be careful, and lock their doors.”

“Right. Because bears and cougars break into people’s houses now, do they?” Dean snorted. “All right, that’s definitely our kind of weird. Finish your pancakes, and we’ll go.”

 

~

 

 _Casper, Wyoming_

After examining the bodies at the coroner’s, and speaking to the deceased’s next of kin, the boys settled into their green-themed motel room to do some more research.

“Well, almost all of them still had hearts, so it wasn’t a werewolf,” said Dean as he opened their father’s journal to scan through the information it contained.

“No sulphur or EMF.” Sam typed rapidly into his laptop. “That confirms it wasn’t some seriously pissed off ghosts, either.” He paused thoughtfully. “Ghouls, maybe?”

“God, I hope not,” Dean replied with a shake of his head.

For the next couple hours, the boys poured over lore and their findings. They made a list of possible suspects based on the physical evidence and testimonies from the victims’ families and friends, then they began to whittle that list down. Eventually they eliminated the possibility that the victims were killed by vamps or Vetala, a Wraith, or Okami, among other things.

Late into the night, Dean ran out for some pizza and beer to keep them going. As they munched and drank, they crossed off several more monsters from the list: Lamia (the location of the killings made it too unlikely), a Rakshasa (distinct lack of insects) or a Kitsune (lack of missing pituitary gland).

Somewhere around two-thirty in the morning, Sam looked up blearily from his laptop. “So what does that leave us?”

Dean jumped, having slightly dozed off, and knocked his pen to the floor. He gave his head a shake and consulted their list. “Wendigo, Rugaru… and witches. Damn, it better not be witches.” He scrubbed his hand over his face.

“Yeah, but all the dead plants,” Sam sighed. At each of the victims houses, their front lawns were mysteriously dead and brown, though the neighbors on either side had flourishing green ones. “If it’s a Rugaru or a Wendigo though, then what’s with the grass and stuff? Cursed object maybe?”

“I vote we figure it out in the morning,” said Dean and staggered to his bed. He collapsed into the pillows with a heavy sigh.

Sam conceded that they were too tired to make any more headway that night, and followed Dean’s lead.

 

~

 

 _London, England_

Castiel was walking amongst the flowers and greenery of the Queen Mary’s Rose Garden. He’d heard that a person was supposed to stop and smell the roses on occasion, and though he wasn’t completely certain as to which roses were being referred to, this famous rose garden seemed like a good a place as any to start. He leaned down to inhale the scent of a brilliant orange flower.

He should have known the quiet day would never last.

“This what you do when you’re not stopping apocalypses?” said a languid female voice behind him.

Castiel stood up straight and faced the demon behind him.

“Meg,” he greeted tonelessly. He advanced a step towards her, ready to banish her, when she threw her hands up in surrender.

“Whoa, chill out angel boy, I come in peace for once.”

Cas stopped, but didn’t let his guard down. “Why are you here?”

“Well _hello_ to you too, sunshine,” she replied irritably. “You mean you’re not glad to see me?”

Cas declined to respond. The answer was of course _no,_ because there was no demon in any realm that he could ever be _glad_ to see.

It was worrying that she’d sought him out like this, as it likely meant she wanted something. Or maybe she was here to try and kill him or manipulate him, despite her declaration that she meant no ill will (she _was_ a demon after all, so he hardly believed she was speaking the truth). Perhaps she was after the Winchesters?

Unfortunately there were a lot of possibilities, none of them pleasant, so he waited warily for her to explain her presence.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Okay fine, no pleasantries. How dare a demon such as myself attempt to do you a solid, right?”

After a couple seconds of Castiel’s blank stare, Meg amended, “A favor, Wings. I’m trying to do you a _favor._ I have important information for you.”

Castiel had dealt with too many demons to put much stock in anything she was saying or _would_ be saying, and mostly felt irritated she was standing before him. He’d been enjoying smelling the roses in peace, thank you very much.

“I’m sure you do,” he said blandly. “Take it somewhere else before I make you leave myself.”

“Hey, it concerns your favorite pets,” Meg shot back. “So you might want to actually listen for a second and tone down the hostility.”

The angel narrowed his eyes at the woman, trying to determine if she was lying. He had a half a mind to disappear and find the boys immediately to see if they were in trouble, but part of him wondered if that was exactly what Meg was hoping he would do.

This was why he hated dealing with demons. There were too many lies and traps and motivations to sift through, and it was complicated and hateful.

“You have approximately fifteen seconds to explain before I dispatch you,” he warned her dangerously.

Meg huffed and planted her hand on her hip. “Chill out, Feathers – ”

“Fourteen,” said Cas.

Before Meg opened her mouth to tell the angel whatever it was that she’d come here to tell him, the pair were sent tumbling off of their feet as the ground beneath them gave a mighty shake. The rose bushes around them grew suddenly like they were on extreme time lapse, budding and blooming wide and green and beautiful. They withered and wilted in the seconds it took Cas to stagger to his feet and search for the source of the threat. There was the sound of crackling leaves and swishing grass and rumbling earth.

“Go!” Meg shouted as the ground gave another roll and Cas struggled to stay standing.

An unusually tall man, thin but muscular with bronze-toned skin, was marching towards the angel and the demon, his features twisted in a furious expression. He brought his arms up and thunder crackled overhead, though the sky above was blue and only dotted with clouds.

Castiel was ready to fight the man, putting himself instinctively in between the threat and Meg without a second thought.

“Get behind me!” he told her fiercely as the man advanced. Blooms of roses exploded in colorful bursts of dying petals.

But Meg was at his side instead, tugging hard on his arm.

“No, just go!” she hollered in his ear. “Get us out of here, _now!_ ”

Castiel hesitated for a micro-second – who was the man? Was he after Meg, or Cas? Did it matter? Would he kill innocent civilians left behind if Cas and Meg disappeared? What were his powers and how was he doing _that_ to all the plant life and the ground and the sky? What kind of monster or being _was_ he? – before deciding on following Meg’s advice and getting them the hell out of there.

 

~

 

 _Casper, Wyoming_

That morning, the boys went back to comb the victims’ houses for any indication that witches were involved in the strange deaths. After more than a couple hours of searching, as well as more interviews with friends and family, Dean was extremely relieved to cross witches off the list.

He joined Sam on the sidewalk outside of the last victim’s home. “That leaves Wendigo and Rugaru,” he commented as they began walking towards the Impala.

“After talking to the families again, I’m pretty sure we can cross off Rugaru,” said Sam. “There’s no family history that would indicate that’s what we’re dealing with here.”

“All right, then we have a winner: Wendigo it is.” Dean opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat. As he started up the engine, however, he could practically feel Sam’s frown beside him. “What is it? You don’t think so anymore?”

“It doesn’t totally add up,” his brother said. “Wendigos stick to abandoned, isolated places, like mines and caves, and they aren’t found this far north and west.”

Dean shrugged. “So this one is different. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve run into a monster that changed its style.” He pulled the car away from the curb.

“Yeah, but the dead lawns still gets me,” Sam went on. “It’s at every house of every victim, and none of their neighbours. Last I checked, Wendigos don’t have that kind of plant-killing effect on everything in their vicinity.”

“Look, Sammy, ever since Lucifer came out of the cage, a lot of the rules have changed,” Dean reasoned. “Not to mention that time the gates of Hell were wide open and a whole host of nasty came through.”

“Then maybe it’s something new – something we’ve never dealt with before.” Sam raked his fingers through his hair. “I think we should go back to the drawing board.”

Dean sighed. It could never be easy. Of _course_ it couldn’t just be a simple Wendigo. They weren’t that lucky.

“Fine, but we’re going to need supplies.”

“You mean pie, don’t you.”

“Man cannot research on pizza and beer alone,” Dean quipped and tossed his brother a wide smile.

They pulled over at the first convenience store they saw and Dean hopped out.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, shutting the car door behind him.

Inside, the place was relatively clean and tidy, smelling like coffee, hot dogs, and Lysol. The bored female clerk didn’t bother to look up from her magazine as the door chimes tinkled noisily and Dean walked past her. He spotted a section for baked goods at the back of the store by the churning Slurpee machine and hurried over, hopeful there would be some half-decent packaged pie.

The shelves held about twelve different kinds of packaged donuts and as many cookies varieties. Dean scowled as his eyes roamed the selection of other miscellaneous goodies. _How could there be no pie?_

The door opened announcing another customer when Dean spotted the thing he was seeking, nestled on the very bottom shelf between bagged mini bagels and a container of questionable looking neon green iced cupcakes. He grinned and bent down to retrieve the small box of cherry pie.

“I said, _now!_ ” a male voice said loudly.

The clerk at the front whimpered and Dean heard the cash register open with a _ka-ching_.

 _No,_ Dean thought with a quiet groan. _Please do not tell me this store is being robbed right now._

“Hey you!”

Dean swore under his breath.

“You at the back! Get out here with your hands up!”

The hunter grit his teeth and did as he was told. His gun was in the Impala with Sam.

“Look buddy,” said Dean carefully. “I don’t want any trouble.”

The guy in the ski mask waved his gun in Dean’s direction. “Yeah, neither do I! So don’t you move a damn muscle!” He proceeded to threaten the cashier a bit more as she sniffled and shakily stuffed cash and lottery tickets into a bag.

Dean hung back, trying to come up with a plan, but he was too far away and weaponless. He wanted to help the girl, but he _really_ didn’t want to get shot. He just needed an opening…

The guy turned and came for Dean next, demanding his wallet and valuables, and Dean saw his chance. As the guy advanced, Dean made to dig out his wallet, looking appropriately frightened. The crook glanced over his shoulder to ensure the clerk was still hands-up-terrified behind the counter, and Dean leapt forward to tackle the guy.

The thing was, and Dean couldn’t explain it, but when his hands connected with the thief, the guy _flew_ backwards like Dean had shoved him with the force of ten men instead of one. The guy wailed in surprise and smashed into the counter so hard that the thin metal shelves holding the candy bars caved in on impact. Dean stumbled and blinked as candy bars went flying and the clerk screamed and dove for cover.

The thief attempted to get to his feet at once, but Dean wasn’t going to let the idiot get away – he crossed the store and reached for the guy’s collar. He picked him up by his clothes, and Dean nearly dropped him in shock, because it was like the guy weighed _nothing_. It didn’t make any sense. He was visibly a stocky, muscular guy – Dean guessed the crook weighed about 180 pounds or so – but to Dean’s arms, he was no heavier than the candy crunching under foot.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the guy babbled as Dean lifted him up several feet off the ground (one-handed _– what the hell was happening_ ). “Keep the money, just let me go!”

“Oh, I’m gonna let you go, all right,” Dean sneered.

He marched to the store’s door and gave it a push with his free hand – he thought with no more strength than usual, but the door slammed open so hard the glass shattered and the frame popped off its hinges. The criminal in Dean’s hand squirmed and yelped as Dean gawked at the broken door.

Sam was clambering out of the Impala in alarm. “Dean! What – ”

Dean quickly returned his attention to the thief in his hand. “Never come back here again, do you hear me?” Dean roared in the other man’s face.

The guy blubbered out some promise that he wouldn’t _ever, ever I swear to God_ , and Dean further made him promise never to steal again. He finally let go of the crook, who dropped to the ground in a heap, sniveling and hysterical, then scrambled away like his shoes were on fire.

Sam glanced between the retreating criminal and his brother in astonishment. “ _Dean_ , what the hell just happened?”

Dean looked down at his hands then up at his brother. “Dude, I’m a freaking superhero!”


	2. Chapter 2

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Castiel took them to the first (and safest) place he thought of, dumping Meg rather unceremoniously onto the small threadbare carpet by the kitchen table. 

“What was that?” he demanded. “ _Who_ was that?” 

“Geez, give a girl a second to get her breath back,” said Meg, getting to her feet. “Some of us aren’t used to traveling by… whatever you call that.” 

Cas was in no mood to play around. “Meg, what is going on. You stated you had important information for me about the Winchesters and then a man showed up – ” 

“No need for the recap, sports fan, I was there too, remember?” 

“Are they in trouble?” he asked sharply. “Do they need my help?” 

“I suppose that depends on your definition of trouble.” Meg smiled coyly at him. 

Castiel sighed through his nose and speedily crossed the kitchen to grasp Meg tightly by the arm. Ignoring her protests (and noting her general lack of strength with a bit of surprise), Cas hauled her across the threshold into the living room, and deposited her in the center of the devil’s trap painted on the living room floor. 

No one else seemed to be in the house, as he suspected they would have come running by now if they had been. 

“The _hell_ , Castiel!” she barked at him, rubbing at the red marks on her arm left by his fingers. “I am trying to _help_!” 

“So you say.” 

“Have I ever lied to you?” she drawled at him, the corners of her lips turning up into that annoying I’ve-got-a-secret-and-don’t-you-wish-you-knew-it smile he had grown accustomed to seeing on the faces she wore. She tipped her head in the direction of the devil’s trap. “This really necessary?” 

“Yes,” he replied in a clipped tone. “If you’re trying to help, then help. If you’re not going to reveal the identity of the being that attempted to attack us in the garden, then explain why you came to me in the first place.” 

She examined her nails. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I don’t want to after all.” 

Castiel clenched his jaw tightly. And this, again, was exactly why he hated demons.

 

~

 

 _Casper, Wyoming_

Sam drove them back to the motel, because when Dean grabbed the driver’s door handle, he accidentally pulled it off (and exclaimed like he’d yanked off his own limb). He gingerly settled into the passenger’s seat then (after Sam opened the door for him, and was trying not to openly laugh too hard), and very carefully kept his hands clasped in his lap so he didn’t further injure Baby. Even so, Dean could not seem to wipe the grin off of his face. 

“Super strength, man!” said Dean. 

Sam opened the door to their motel room and closed it behind them, ensuring Dean didn’t do any damage. 

“This is the best thing that has _ever_ happened to me,” he laughed. “I feel like summoning Crowley right here, right now and punching him across the state line _just because I can_.” 

“Dean…” Sam began warily. 

His brother whooped loudly and went to the kitchenette to get a beer from the fridge. He grasped the handle and it crunched in his hand as easily as if it were made of paper. 

“Oops…” he grimaced and attempted to open the fridge door gently, but it popped off its hinges. 

“Dean!” Sam admonished. “We’re going to have to pay for that!” 

“Sorry, I don’t know my own strength!” Dean laughed again and reached for a beer. The first one he grabbed shattered in his hands, spraying beer and glass all over the floor and the fridge’s interior. Sam really wasn’t finding this as funny as his brother, who was still grinning as he gripped a second bottle much more carefully. 

“This is awesome, this is _so_ awesome…” said Dean as he one-handedly set the fridge door back into place. “Now as long as no one tries to open it, it’ll be fine, see?” 

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam began in warning. 

Dean tried to twist open his beer and proceeded to break the neck of the bottle off. “Whoops,” he laughed and reached for the cupboard to get a cup for his beer instead. 

“Dean, don’t touch anything else! Stop and sit down for a second, will you?” Sam said with exasperation. “Look, this is cool and all, but it’s also scary as hell – we don’t know what’s causing it or why.” 

“Does it matter?” Dean spun to face his brother, still grinning. “I’m Superman! Wait, I wonder if I’m invincible too.” 

He abandoned the broken beer bottle in the sink, and raced over to his bags and weapons to retrieve a knife. Dean rolled up his sleeve and pressed the blade to his bare forearm. He pushed harder when nothing happened, then flipped the knife so the point was against his skin. He made a stabbing motion at his own arm, but the metal wouldn’t penetrate. 

“Oh my _God_ , I really _am_ Superman!” Dean’s grin was even wider than before. 

“You’re not even listening to me,” said Sam with a worried sigh. 

Dean waved the knife in his brother’s direction. “Sammy, stop raining on my parade. You’re just jealous that you didn’t wake up with legit super powers this morning.” 

“Actually, I’m just worried about where the hell these… _powers_ came from.” 

“I feel great! I’m on _fire_ – I have literally never felt better. I want to go… _rip_ something apart, just because I _can!_ ” Dean paced the room, flexing his hands, bursting with energy and excitement. “Just _think_ of all the awesome things I’ll be able to do now!” 

Sam bit his lip. “I think we should call Bobby.” 

“No way,” Dean scowled. “It’s bad enough I’ve got you pooping on this little development, I don’t need him doing it too.” 

“So you agree something is messed up here?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Can I just _enjoy_ it, for _one_ _damn second_?” 

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, fine. Enjoy it. I’m going to try to figure out what’s killing people in Casper, but you… you revel in being a so-called super hero. Fingers crossed you don’t spontaneously die because we don’t actually know what’s happening to you.” 

Dean glared at Sam who all-too-innocently crossed the room and opened up his laptop to do some research.

 

~

 

 _Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Castiel looked around Bobby’s living room. He could guess at some of what it had seen in its lifetime. Monsters and demons and all other sorts of foul creatures had been put down with extreme prejudice. Tears had been shed. Laughter heard. Loud, angry screams ricocheted across the worn furniture. This room had certainly seen its fair share of bad.  
  
But this was really bad.  
  
Not quite ‘someone-spilled-pie-all-over-the-Impala-and-Dean’s-about-to-come-back-and-it’s-not-even-good-pie-it’s-the-apparently-crappy-kind-filled-with-whipped-cream-and-frothy-nothingness-which-is-an-insult-to-all-pie-or-so-Dean-claims’ bad, but still pretty bad. 

This was ‘housing-a-demon-who-was-possibly- being-hunted-by- _something-_ major-and-refusing-to-talk-about-it’ bad.  
  
He had contained Meg and was staring her down, but wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. She still claimed to have some sort of important information, and by this point he wasn’t sure if it was a bluff or not.  
  
He didn’t really want to try to force the information out of her. He was fairly convinced that it would take a long, long time to make her say anything she didn’t want to say, and he was certain that no one would want to come in on such a strange, violent, and possibly perverse situation. He also couldn’t just whisk the two of them over to wherever the Winchesters were, mostly because he didn’t trust her anywhere near them for even the memory of a second. 

_And_ he didn't exactly want to just toss her out into the open, or leave her alone, where she could potentially kill them all or execute some brash, effective, and evil plan (if that wasn’t what she was doing already).  
  
It was better just to wait until the Winchesters and Bobby came home, and found that an angel and a demon had forced themselves into their home.  
  
Castiel wasn’t exactly the best at reading human customs and the like, but he had the suspicion that they wouldn’t enjoy the surprise (but it would be better than appearing out of nowhere, or burning the remnants of Meg’s being bit by bit as she screamed and laughed, so there they stayed).  
  
Meg shifted from where she was lounging on the floor, a lazy, devilish little smile on her face.  
  
“What’s wrong, Feathers?” she drawled. “Worried about what the kids are going to say when they find out that Mommy and Daddy skipped out on the fun to be alone?”  
  
Cas looked at her, then stared out the window.  
  
He really didn’t like this and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to interact with her when he wasn’t aggressively threatening or protecting her. He didn’t want to have to listen and interpret Meg’s chatter and fail miserably, and he just _really_ wanted Bobby and Dean and Sam to come back to fill the air and take care of what needed to be taken care of.  
  
Meg gave a chuckle that made him very uncomfortable, and he silently begged them to come home a little bit faster. 

“You are adorable when you’re worried,” she teased. 

“I would not have to be if you would simply tell me what you know,” he said, keeping his back to her for another moment before facing her. 

Meg shifted and crossed her legs, leaning back on her elbows. Her skin appeared paler than it had an hour ago, her cheeks drawn and glazed with sweat, as if she were ill. Cas observed her curiously but opted not to comment – it did not matter to him if she were sick. What mattered was the supposed helpful information she was being infuriatingly coy and stubborn about sharing. 

“Are they in danger?” he asked. 

“Aren’t they always?” Meg replied sweetly. 

“Why did you come to me in the garden?” 

Meg raised her eyebrow and stared Cas down seductively. “Oh, watch your choice of words, sugar, or you’re going to get me all hot and bothered.” 

Castiel struggled to rein in his frustration. This was getting him absolutely nowhere. He weighed his options: take his chances with leaving her alone briefly to go find the boys himself and bring them back here, or take her with him them to go find the boys. Neither option was ideal, but if the Winchesters were truly in trouble, and Meg honestly _did_ have information essential to or about them and whatever situation they were currently in, well… 

A phone began to ring in the kitchen. Castiel cast a wary look at Meg, who raised her eyebrow at him. 

“You gonna get that?” 

The angel decided it would be safe to leave for just a moment and went to retrieve the phone. He found half a dozen phones mounted to the wall in the kitchen, however, each with a different label affixed to them: _FBI, Police, Health Department…_

“Uh…” Castiel’s hand hovered over the phones, back and forth as one of them rang. 

He picked one at random – labelled _C.D.C._ – but there was nothing on the other end except a dial tone. He tried the one called _Fed. Marshal_ , and the one that read _CIA_ , and then the ringing stopped. Cas scowled at the line-up of phones and then returned to the area where Meg was being held. 

“Wrong number?” she said mockingly (and there was that I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile again that he liked so much). 

The front door opened, and a moment later Bobby appeared in the living room doorway. He was carrying a paper bag with a red and yellow logo in one hand, and a cardboard soda cup in the other. He froze in surprise at the sight that greeted him. 

“What the hell?”

 

~

 

 _Casper, Wyoming_

Sam set his phone down with a sigh. “No answer at Bobby’s. He must be out.” 

“Good, ‘cause we don’t need him.” Dean got to his feet. “Look, all the victims died in their houses, alone, right?” 

“Yeah…” Sam agreed warily, concerned he knew exactly where his brother was going with this. 

“So we figure out the connection, who’s next, and go squat at their house ‘till the beastie shows up, and then I gank it – whatever it is.” 

“Dean,” Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly. 

“What? I can take it, no matter what it is. Hell, I hope it _is_ a witch after all, so I can completely _clock_ the bitch.” Dean held up his fist and then waggled his fingers. 

“That’s not the problem.” 

“Come _on_ , Sammy, I have _super powers_! I’m not going to just _sit_ here and do nothing with them!” Dean started towards the door. “I can think of a thousand things to do with these hands and researching is not one of them.” 

“Will you just _wait_ until we know what’s going on?” Sam yelled. 

Dean yanked open the motel room door – or rather, as he had been doing with doors all day, unintentionally tore off the handle and took the door out of its frame. He swore loudly and realized there was a very tall man standing on the other side of the threshold. He had smooth, bronze-toned skin, and his hand was raised as if he’d been about to knock. 

Dean stared at the man for a second. “Hey… aren’t you the guy from the pizza place last night?” 

The man with dark hair and gold eyes smiled, and it was the type of creepy, unnerving smile that sent chills of dread rocketing down Dean’s spine. 

“Man does not truly know strength,” said the tall man, his voice soft and smooth. “Man is, and has always been, weak.” 

Without warning, the man brought his hands to Dean’s chest and gave him a mighty shove. Dean careened backwards, completely off his feet, and crashed into the far wall on the opposite side of the room. Sam dove for his weapons, snatching up holy water, salt, and anything he could grab to throw at the man now advancing casually into their motel room. They had no idea what they were dealing with, so Sam was ready to try everything _right now_. 

“Use your powers on him!” Sam hollered at his brother, who lurched to his feet unsteadily. The salt and holy water had zero effect – in fact, the man didn’t even take note of Sam tossing the substances at him. 

Though sunlight was streaming in the window by the table, there was a loud _boom_ of thunder overhead. Dean charged at the man, but then the floor rumbled and shifted and pitched beneath his feet, and he pin-wheeled his arms and tumbled headlong into the table. The light fixtures flashed brighter than they should have been capable of shining, then exploded, raining glass down around the room. 

The tall man’s fingers were spread apart and he raised his hands to shoulder level, almost as if surrendering, and the thunder crashing somewhere outside got louder. Sam struggled to his knees and aimed his gun at the man, pulling the trigger several times as fast he could. Some of the bullets blew past the man and peppered the motel wall; the others hit their target but he was as unaffected by them as he was by the undulating floor. In fact the man looked no more bothered than if he’d been bitten by a mosquito. 

He turned chilly gold eyes on Sam. “Really, insect, wait your turn.” 

Sam gulped. 

Dean was on his feet again, fighting the rolling ground. He roared and made to charge the tall man again. This time he got close, but the man lashed out as fast as lightning, his fist cracking Dean in the face. He fell to his knees blinking the stars and blood from his eyes. 

“Punch him, Dean! Use your super strength!” 

“I’m trying! I think I’ve lost my mojo, Sammy!” 

The tall man lifted Dean by the throat. Like the hunter and his run-in with the convenience store crook, it was as though Dean weighed nothing to the man holding him. 

Sam scrabbled for his machete. Dean gasped for breath, fingers scratching uselessly at the tall man’s iron-strong grip. The man brought his free hand towards Dean’s chest, long golden claws extending from the tips of his fingers. 

Sam clambered to his feet, using the wall for support. The man pressed the claws to Dean’s chest and slowly dragged them down. The hunter let out a strangled cry, his face purpling from lack of air. Sam raised his blade – 

Castiel appeared and grasped Sam’s arm. The tall man whirled. Dean kicked out, taking advantage of the man’s second of distraction, and the man lost his grip on his plaything. Cas and Sam were gone in the blink of an eye, but Cas was back in the next second to clutch Dean’s arm next. 

“You!” The bronze-skinned man was furious. “Don’t you d– ”


	3. Chapter 3

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Dean sprawled on the floor in front of the couch next to Sam. He gulped air and touched a shaky hand to his bleeding chest. 

“What…” Sam panted. “What the hell just happened?” 

“That would be Kratos,” said Bobby, arms crossed over his broad chest. 

Cas helped Dean to a sitting position, then gently onto the couch. Sam got to his feet and noticed Meg curled up on the floor inside Bobby’s devil’s trap. She wiggled her fingers at him in greeting. Sam pointed at her and opened his mouth to ask Bobby why the hell Meg was here, and looking pale and frail. 

“Hey boys,” she said lazily. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Dean had more or less recovered his breath and ignoring the demon, he questioned, “Wait, Kratos, as in the god of _war_?” 

“No, idjit, that’s just a video game,” Bobby rolled his eyes. “Kratos, as in the Greek god of strength and power.” 

“What was he doing in _Wyoming_?” Dean croaked, rubbing at his neck. Bobby handed him a handful of bandages to hold to his wounds. 

“Meg?” Cas gestured for her to explain. 

The demon sighed and didn’t bother to sit up when she answered, “He shows up every couple hundred years or so to remind humanity that they don’t actually know what real strength is.” 

“Yeah, he mentioned something along those lines,” Dean nodded. 

“Sorry, probably not important,” Sam interrupted. “But, why is _she_ here?” 

“Hey, watch the tone, Lurch,” Meg sniped. 

“She came to warn me about Kratos,” Cas replied. He eyed Meg. “In a manner of speaking.” 

“Did you know your boyfriend spends his spare time sniffing flowers?” the demon smirked at Dean. 

“Warn you?” Sam scrunched his eyebrows together. 

Meg rolled her eyes. “All right, it was a matter of self-preservation, so sue me. Kratos was after me, I dodged his ass, and he went back to ravaging schmucks in Wyoming.” 

“Why was he after you?” asked Sam. 

“Uh, demon? Hello? Does anyone need a better reason?” she rolled her eyes again at the lot of them, then nodded tiredly at Dean. “Anyways, you two stumbled on his trail, I went after Wings to tell him how to off the god, but Kratos came after me again and then Saint Emotionless zapped us here.” 

Dean and Sam looked between Cas and Meg. 

“Figured Kratos would go finish up his gig in Casper before he came for me again, and I was right.” 

“He recognized me when he saw me,” interjected Cas. “I fear we will not be safe here for long. He will know that I have saved all three of you today – three victims he was supposed to have killed.” 

Dean gingerly lifted the blood-soaked bandages to inspect the gashes on his chest. “Well, he sure _tried_ , anyway.” 

Bobby pulled a stack of fresh gauze from the first aid kit sitting on the desk, and sat down on the couch beside Dean to patch him up. 

“He’ll be back,” said Meg, her eyes sliding closed like it was too much effort to keep them open. “He’s coming for us.” 

Dean peered at her curiously. “What’s wrong with _you_?” 

The demon opened her eyes a touch. “Same thing that’s gonna be wrong with you if you don’t banish Kratos.” 

“What d’you mean?” 

“Anything unusual happen today? I mean, outside of the weird deaths and monster attack.” 

Sam cast a sideways look at Dean who shifted uneasily. 

“What?” asked Bobby at once, not missing the boys’ silent exchange. “What’d you idjits do?” 

“Thought so,” Meg smiled. 

“I… maybe…” Dean avoided Bobby’s stern gaze. 

“He thought he had super powers,” Sam answered for his brother, and couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. 

“I did!” insisted Dean. “I had super strength, _and_ invincibility! I tried to stab my arm with my knife and couldn’t!” 

Meg giggled then full on laughed. 

“And you didn’t question _why_?” Bobby snapped. 

Dean sort of half-shrugged and opened and closed his mouth. “Would _you_?” he managed. 

Bobby fixed him with his best you-are-an-actual-moron look. 

“That’s his schtick,” said Meg when she’d stopped laughing. “That’s Kratos’ _thing_. He touches you, and then in a moment of adrenaline, the curse he puts on you begins. You get a couple hours of incredible, _powerful_ strength, before becoming too weak to fight him, and he shreds your insides. And outsides for entertainment value.” 

The men in the room focused their attention on Meg, none more sharply than Dean (who had silently felt pretty woozy the last ten minutes but was chalking it up to blood loss). 

Sam tossed a worried look at his brother. 

“He get you too?” asked Dean, and Meg gave a weak nod. 

“What’s with all the dead plant life, then?” asked Sam. “All the victims’ houses had brown lawns.” 

Cas perked up. “And the roses in the garden – they grew and died before our eyes when Kratos arrived.” 

“Wait, _roses in the garden_?” Dean eyed the angel and laughed. “You and _her_ in a garden? How _quaint_.” 

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean, Meg had her infuriating I’ve-got-a-secret grin on again, and Sam cleared his throat loudly, attempting to get them back on track. 

“The grass?” 

“It’s some side effect of his strength and power thing,” said Meg, tearing her eyes away from Castiel. “It’s basically what he does to humans only in super fast-forward, because plants have zero defense – pesky things that get in the way of his aura of magical influence. Like skin, and brains, and will power.” 

“So how do we stop him?” inquired Sam. 

“You don’t,” Meg sighed heavily. “You only banish the bastard. It’s not a permanent solution – a permanent one doesn’t exist, far as I know. But it’ll work for another couple hundred years, and that’s good enough for me.” 

Sam and Bobby exchanged wary glances. 

“Well,” said the older man. “It’s not like we have much of a choice.” 

“What do we need?” Sam asked Meg. 

“All the ingredients in Mom’s pantry,” she drawled. 

“And once we banish him to another realm,” said Cas. “You and Dean will be at full capacity?” 

“I hope so,” Meg mumbled. 

“Well, then let’s get this show on the road,” said Bobby and rolled up his sleeves.

 

~

 

Cas materialized in and out of the house, gathering ingredients from across the globe that Bobby didn’t already have in his stores. Sam searched for the binding and banishing spell Meg told them they needed, while Bobby began preparing the altar, painted in Greek symbols with the blood of an anaconda. 

Meg remained curled up on the floor, looking very much like a terminally ill patient in a hospital. She was white as fresh snow, her eyes sunken and bruised in appearance, her breath shallow. Dean laid on the couch, and though he wasn’t quite as bad off as Meg seemed to be, he was certainly getting there. 

Though earlier that day he felt like he could have lifted a house with his bare hands (and probably truly could have), now he was finding the glass of water Bobby had brought him too heavy to bring all the way to his lips. He felt weak and shaky like he had the flu; hot and cold with fever. 

“We’re almost ready,” Bobby said from the kitchen. 

Dean merely grunted in response. 

“Comes on fast don’t it, hot stuff?” Meg smirked. 

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Not a fan of this.” 

“It comes in waves. You think you’re feeling better for a minute, and then you can’t sit up anymore.” 

“Oh joy.” 

Cas appeared in the living room with a jar of black stuff. “He’s here.” 

As if on cue, thunder sounded, rattling the windows. The house plant by Bobby’s desk began to rapidly bloom, and the whole house shook. 

Bobby darted into the living room to snatch the jar from Castiel’s hands. “Stall him,” he instructed and dashed back to the kitchen where Sam was furiously reciting passages out of an ancient volume of some description. 

Castiel glanced at Meg as if she might have a suggestion on how the angel was to do that. 

“Good luck, Wings,” she murmured helpfully. “This is all you.” 

The front door smashed open with incredible force and Kratos strode in, slow and casual as if he owned the place. Bobby ran to the archway between the kitchen and the living room, shotgun raised, loaded, and ready to fire. 

“Don’t come a step further,” Cas warned the advancing Greek god. 

“Or you’ll what? Disappear again?” Kratos tilted his head mockingly. “Do you really want to tangle with a god, little angel?” 

He peered past Castiel and spotted Meg on the floor. The relaxed smile slipped off his features. 

“You _are_ here,” he said irritably. The thunder outside grumbled softly, like a lion’s purr. 

Meg opened her eyes. “Yeah, K, you got me.” 

The god glared fiercely at Meg then at Cas. “Is this why you didn’t call? Are you with _him_?” 

Meg heaved a long-suffering sigh and pushed herself to a sitting position with wobbly, white arms. “Are you kidding me? It was a one-night stand. You _do_ know what a one night stand is – surely they had those last time you were in this realm?” 

Kratos’ expression was pinched and petulant. 

“Wait, are you saying this is all just the one night stand from Hell?” asked Dean incredulously. 

“That would be _me_ , actually,” said Meg. “Literally.” 

“Not _all_ …” said Kratos evasively, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking awkward. 

“Seriously? A pissed off ex?” Bobby glanced between Kratos, Cas, and Meg with disbelief before scowling at the demon on the floor. “Dontcha think that was pertinent information to share with the rest of the class?” 

“Hey, my love life is none of your damn beeswax, old man,” Meg retorted hotly. “Plus, Rocky and Bullwinkle were already on the case of the shredded Casper-ites, so the fact that I slept with a guy, that I _didn’t know was a freaking god_ , _really_ has nothing to do with anything!” 

Bobby huffed. “Except now he’s standing in my living room, and is totally pissed off on account of tangling with _you_!” 

Kratos straightened his spine, at once becoming the intimidating tall man that had entered. “That’s correct. And _you_ , I have no quarrel with. You are free to depart.” 

“Like hell I will,” Bobby replied without missing a beat. 

“Very well, you’re also free to die with the whore, the idiot, my prey, and the angel.” 

“Wait,” piped up Dean from the couch. “Which one am I?” 

“Uh, _you_ were the one _throwing_ yourself at _me_ , buddy,” Meg sneered at Kratos. “ _Whore_ is a little rich coming from you.” 

“Enough,” Kratos boomed, and the thunder outside crashed to match his outburst. He took a step further into the living room and began to raise his arms. 

“I warned you,” Castiel growled. “Don’t take _another step_.” 

Kratos gave Castiel a measured, thoughtful look, and then all chaos broke loose. 

Rows of fire sprang up from the lines of the devil’s trap on the floor. Meg screamed, Kratos shoved Castiel with bone-breaking force, and Bobby fired a round from his gun at the golden god. Castiel went flying right through the living room wall, collided with the fridge in the kitchen and landed in a heap. 

Dean staggered to his feet, fighting the wave of dizziness threatening to take him down as Bobby ran to assist Sam in completing the banishing spell. The floor pitched and roiled. 

Kratos lashed out at Dean is if he were a fly and sent him sprawling into the nearest book shelf. He advanced on the fallen hunter. 

“You humans. You think you’re so very powerful. I give you a taste of my power – of _real_ power, before showing you how weak, insignificant, and pathetic you truly are.” Kratos bared his teeth at Dean. 

The hunter could barely sit up – something was broken (ribs? Wrist? Both), and he was having trouble breathing. The smoke from the fire wasn’t helping. Meg cried out in pain. 

“How I, the God of Strength,” Kratos continued, moving slow and deliberate towards Dean. “Can rip you apart piece by little piece, as easily as you tear a piece of tissue paper.” 

“Wow,” Dean bobbed his head as if impressed. Fresh blood was trickling down the side of his face and he was having trouble focusing. “You really have a _God_ complex.” He chuckled at his own joke but Kratos didn’t crack a smile. “Oh come on, that was funny.” 

“Hey!” Castiel shouted from the direction of the kitchen. “Assbutt!” 

Kratos spun around. In the angel’s hand was a liquor bottle and a rag. Cas lit the rag on fire with a lighter. 

“Worked for Michael,” he murmured. He launched the projectile at the god, who roared and whirled and batted it away, just barely. 

The bottle sailed across the room and smashed out the window, landing in the dirt outside. His prey momentarily forgotten, Kratos tore after the angel, intent on destroying the distraction before finishing off Dean. 

At the make-shift altar in the kitchen, Sam commanded Bobby to add the “blood of the weakened enemy” (Bobby tossed Dean’s blood-soaked bandages from before into the bowl), followed by a handful of ashes and sand. Kratos bellowed with rage and fear, and Castiel threw himself into the god’s path. 

Meg screeched for help. “Don’t let him burn me! Please, I _helped_ you!” she wailed. 

Dean struggled across the debris strewn floor on his elbows – he was _so weak_ … 

_“…and returneth to thy realm of containment!”_ Sam finished. 

Castiel wrestled with Kratos on the linoleum, and the god slashed fiercely with his gold claws extended. Bobby dropped the ivory shavings and tiger tooth into the bowl, followed by a match. 

The roof and the floor shook so violently, Sam was positive the home was about to break apart. The thunder outside was deafening, and Bobby believed the _sky_ was about to tear apart. 

Kratos screamed and screamed as flames licked his golden body… and he exploded in a wave of ashes and sparks and heat. 

The fire in the living room dissipated and Dean grasped Meg’s hand, using all the strength he had left to yank her out of the smoldering remains of the devil’s trap. 

Stunned and relieved silence momentarily settled in every room. 

“Hell… hath no fury… like a woman?” Meg panted after a minute or two. “More like… no fury… like a fallen… _Greek god_ scorned.” 

Dean gulped air. “Amen.”

 

~

 

Sam and Bobby put out the fire in the backyard from Castiel’s fiery projectile, while the angel tended to Dean and Meg. 

Cas hesitated a moment before Meg, who held out her burned arms for him to see. 

“You gonna fix my meat suit, or what?” she asked. “I _could_ get a new one, but I’ve kind of grown attached to this one. She has a great rack.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. 

The angel clenched his jaw. Technically he had never healed a demon before, and he was loathe to discover how touching one to do so would feel. Still, as irritating as she had been about the whole Kratos incident, Meg _had_ in the end given them the recipe to defeat the god. 

“Some time today, Dr. Quinn,” Meg snapped impatiently. 

Cas steeled himself, then reached out and touched his fingers to Meg’s forehead. For a split second, he felt a rush of cold and darkness, anger and pain, emptiness and loneliness; edges that were sharp and serrated… 

Then it was all gone in the next instant, as were Meg’s burns. The color returned to her cheeks too. 

Meg blinked and reeled a little. “Never been touched by an angel before,” she commented. “I feel kind of… _clean_ … and _invaded_.” She gagged like she had a bad taste on her tongue and Cas frowned at her. 

“Yeah, you get used to it,” Dean chuckled and Cas turned his frown on him. Dean waved him off. 

The trio headed outside to join Sam and Bobby. 

“Well, sugar babies, it’s been thrilling,” Meg drawled. She looked at each of the boys in turn, her eyes lingering on Cas in an obvious and seductive way.

Dean covered his mouth with his hand to hide his chuckle as Cas eyed her warily. 

“Or the opposite of,” said Bobby. “You get a free pass this round, sweet cheeks, but you best be on your way. Once a demon, always a demon.” 

Meg quirked her eyebrow at him, but bowed and bid them goodbye all the same. 

“You wanna give me a ride, Feathers?” 

“Where?” asked the angel. 

“Anywhere but here,” replied the demon. 

Castiel exhaled heavily through his nose and grasped Meg’s arm. The pair disappeared in the blink of an eye. 

Bobby placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You feelin’ better?” 

Truth be told, he still felt a little off, but Cas’ touch had taken away the broken bones, bruises, and blood. “Yeah, I’ll live.” He flashed the older man a smile. 

“Good,” said Bobby. He released Dean to hand him a shovel and a hammer. “Then you can help clean up the giant mess you made.” 

Dean balked and looked to Sam, who had a shovel of his own. 

“Hey, _I_ wasn’t the one who got cursed by a Greek god,” he said with too much amusement for Dean’s liking. “And I’m still helping.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grumbled. 

**-end-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure if Balthasar can rewrite history because he didn't like _Titanic_ , then Kratos could go on a murder rampage because he got his feelings hurt. ;D 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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